Love moderately; long love doth so; too swift arrives as tardy as too slow.

Unhappy that I am, I cannot heave My heart into my mouth.

By innocence I swear, and by my youth, I have one heart, one bosom, and one truth, And that no woman has, nor never none Shall mistress be of it save I alone.

Rumour is a pipe Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures And of so easy and so plain a stop That the blunt monster with uncounted heads, The still-discordant wavering multitude, Can play upon it.

The old folk, time's doting chronicles.

Woe, destruction, ruin, and decay; the worst is death and death will have his day.

Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my life.